


Nicotine

by TheFourDoctors



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock is there, M/M, Panic Attacks, a little bit, just not heavily mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 06:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18277253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFourDoctors/pseuds/TheFourDoctors
Summary: A short little fic I wrote when an idea randomly popped into my head





	Nicotine

It hurt. Well, of course it hurt. It usually did while coming down from a high, but it was never this bad. He’d get a head ache, yes, and also some nausea, but was his chest supposed to be tight? Was it supposed to feel like he was drowning?

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, something just clawing at the inside of his skull, and in turn causing everything attached to his nerve endings to burn. Sherlock would normally try to think and deduce what was happening, but his mind was so hazy and covered in fog that he couldn’t even get through to his mind palace.

All rationality had started fading as soon as the feelings started, and it seemed like it was completely gone now. He needed air. He needed to get out. He needed-

A shout of pain and a loud crash. Was that shout from him? ‘Don’t be daft, of course it was.’ 

Sherlock barely registered a sharp pain from his knee, jolting all the way up his spine and down his calf, making him bite back another noise as it ached. Blearily, he opened his eyes, observing from his spot on the floor. It appears he had tripped and fallen, likely banging his knee on the coffee table and causing it to shake, therefore knocking off the mug on there and shattering it. Oh well. He’d have to get a new one.

Trying to stand appeared to be a big mistake because as soon as he put pressure on the injured leg, his brain practically exploded with alarms and warning signals at the pain, screaming at him to stop stop stopstopstop- 

“Sherlock?” Ah.

He heard more than saw hurried rushing, the crunching of glass beneath feet- likely shoes, he would’ve heard him make a sound of pain- hands on his shaky shoulders (when had they got like that?), and that voice calling his name again. Sherlock then latched onto the body in front of him, desperately searching for any kind of reprieve from this pain, this aching deep in his bone marrow, the burning of his throat as he gasped for air...

His hands sought the warmth and brought it close despite the agony of each motion.

The detective heard that voice again through the thick layer of nothingness, yet everything all at once, that was clouding his mind, bringing his attention to the man that knelt before him, eyes worried and searching his face, subconsciously checking him over. “Jo-hn.”

Since when had his voice gotten like that? So..shaky and scared and breathy. He supposed it had something to do with everything assaulting his senses at the moment, although the thought was quickly consumed in the whirlwind where every other coherent thought seemed to get caught up in.

Sherlock was getting lost again, but a hand, warm and calloused, cupped his cheek, lifting his face up to look at John in the eyes. He couldn’t look away, almost like he was entranced by some strange, beautiful, ethereal creature. The man held his attention, and the words spoken next made a wave of calm begin to wash over him.

“It’s okay, Sherlock. I’m here. Breathe, okay? Breathe. Deep breaths.”

Deep breaths. That’s right, he needed to breath. 

“Inhale, one, two, three, exhale,”  
He did so, and the detective gradually found himself again, feeling the burning in his lungs and throat die down, and the pain within his bones trickle to a mere ache in his knee. The fog that once clouded his mind began to fade away, instead replaced by a calm provided by John. 

Sherlock breathed, and breathed, and it felt good. He felt alive. Safe. Calmed.

He could think clearly now.

“Sherlock?” Oh right. John. He must have gotten too lost in his Mind Palace, dancing around in some strange glee at the fact that it was back, that he hadn’t totally gone insane and lost it.

“I’m fine.” Sherlock was aware that John hadn’t even asked- the detective busy rubbing the wetness from his own tears off his face- but he knew what the man was thinking. “No, you’re not. You just had a panic attack, Sherlock.” That got his attention.

“A panic attack? How? I’ve never gotten one of those..” “I dunno, It could be stress, or- wait, what were you doing before all this,” John gestured to him and the shattered mug, “happened?”

“I was thinking, John. Usually I use nicotine patches when I’m thinking through a case. The harder it is, the more patches I use. This one was one of the harder cases, so of course I used more patches. More than I’ve ever used all at once before.” 

John blanked, staring right at him as if he was trying to decipher something. 

“So..it’s possible the attack was triggered by the sheer amount of nicotine you were using. Sherlock, you have GOT to take better care of yourself. This might kill you one day, and I really cannot go through that another time, not after what happened, not after thinking you were dead for two years and just- just not knowing what to do at all!”

Heavy breathing, and then silence. John seemed surprised at his own little outburst, but even then, these were words Sherlock needed to hear. He was scaring him with how many risks he took, and we wasn’t sure his heart could take it. He..dammit, John faded too much about Sherlock to ever let it happen again. It took him awhile to figure it out, and he was sure Sherlock knew long before he did (of course, the damn bastard).

He had just needed some time, that’s all.

...

“Right then. I’ll use less patches next time. I promise.” 

John barely held back the sigh of relief, having expected Sherlock to argue, and instead went to help him up. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know it’s short but my fingers itched to write something


End file.
